


Left Unfinished

by TurtleTotem



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Family, Gen, Illegitimacy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: An unfinished letter among Auguste's effects bears a scandalous secret; Laurent is not entirely without family after all.





	1. Chapter 1

The letter was unfinished, unsent—left in Auguste's tent when he died, Laurent said, and packed up with his things. Sent back to his family in a box that the Regent never cared to open, and Laurent could not bear to.

 

_so much I cannot give you, my love, but you and the child will lack for nothing as long as I live._

_Should the worst occur, though it pains me to ask this, I beg you will not approach my father or uncle. They would not understand. My little brother will grow to be a fine man; even in his youth he is not to be underestimated, and we already have proof of his discretion. I feel certain he would help you, if it came to that._

_I miss you terribly, my fire-spirit. I wish_

"Where is the rest of it?" Damen asked, turning the half-page over in his hands.

"Lost. Trampled in the mud of Marlas, most likely." Laurent's face could have been carved from marble; Damen watched him uneasily.

"Perhaps they married secretly," Damen ventured at last.

"Auguste knew better. There were marriage negotiations underway before the war began. He was cheerful about them. No, they were not married." He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray. He did not reach for the letter, but his eyes never left it.

Auguste, Laurent's idolized and immaculately honorable brother, had fathered a bastard. As a Veretian, Laurent's feelings on the matter would have to be different than Damen's, which would have been unequivocal joy in the same circumstance. Damen thought, briefly, of his own brother's child, spirited away by Jokaste, unlikely to be seen again—but safe and loved, at least he could be certain of that. There could be no such certainty about the fate of a bastard child in Vere.

So, in the same way that Laurent had once given him permission to bury Kastor with the honor he didn't deserve, Damen said now what Laurent could not. "We will find the child, and make sure he or she is provided for, as your brother wished."

Laurent closed his eyes, and his throat moved in a hard swallow. He leaned forward the last few inches it took for him to bury his face in Damen's chest; Damen held him tightly.

Laurent's words were muffled, but clear, and not as ambivalent in tone as Damen might have expected. "I am not the last of my line after all."


	2. Chapter 2

Damen had expected that identifying Auguste's lover would be their first and probably greatest obstacle. Laurent merely waved a negligent hand, not looking up from the list he was jotting on a scrap of paper.

"Her name was Lucett, she was the daughter of our court perfumer at the time."

"And how can you know that?"

"Because Auguste was going to see Lucett, the night I caught him sneaking out a window and promised not to tell."

"Ah. Thus the reference to your discretion."

"Yes." His hand faltered a bit in writing. "He liked her quite a lot. She was good-tempered. Kind. One did not often find anyone at court who could be described as _sweet_."

Damen stepped close behind him, brushing his chest against Laurent's back, something for him to lean on. He reached for the list, and drew it close enough to read. Names, many of them similar, or noted as sharing a location. "Family members?"

Laurent nodded. "People who might know what became of her, who might even have sheltered her. She would have had few places to turn, when her pregnancy became obvious."

He finished the list, set it down and looked at it—or through it, to something Damen couldn't see.

"Laurent?"

"I was jealous of her," Laurent said. "She wasn't an idle flirtation like the others. I could tell. She was… stealing him from me. More so than a wife would have, because a wife would have been an obligation. He had no obligation to spend time with Lucett." He rubbed his eyes, as if fighting off a headache—or some other pain.

"But you held your tongue. You didn't give them away." Damen eased his arms around Laurent's waist.

"I considered it. Over and over. It would have been easy, even without breaking my word, to get her sent away from court. I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad Auguste never knew how spiteful I can be."

Damen tightened his grip around Laurent's waist. "Your brother knew you would grow into a fine man. He would be proud of everything you are today."

"Not everything," Laurent said softly. "But this—I would have him be proud of my behavior in this."

"Well, then," Damen tugged the list free of his hand, "let us write some letters."


	3. Chapter 3

Damen had never been to the Ladehors region of Vere. He'd sailed past it, on his way to Arles, in a drugged stupor in the belly of a ship; that surely didn't count. The coastal village where Lucett apparently lived looked prosperous, and ready, in the next generation or so, to be swallowed by the outskirts of the nearby city.

"We're lucky the weather is cool," Laurent murmured, keeping his horse to a casual trot despite the impatience Damen could see humming in his every muscle.

"It'll warm," Damen warned, eyeing the swift rise of the sun. Cool air meant that their hooded cloaks would attract no attention; their aim was to pass as merchants, accompanied only by two guards—Jord and Lazar, who had asked no questions about their mission except to lift their eyebrows as they said "Yes, Your Majesty."

"By the time it warms, we'll be out of the town. The great-aunt who took her in lives on a bluff above the shore."

Indeed, the household proved to be rather isolated, the house itself a once-grand old thing falling into genteel disrepair. That showed more, Damen thought, with ornate Veretian architecture; simpler Akielon styles had fewer ways to chip, peel, or collect grime.

A maidservant was hanging laundry on a line as they approached, while another worked a patch of garden; both looked up in curiosity as their group approached. When they turned from the road, the house their undeniable object, the laundry woman dashed inside to alert her mistress to visitors.

The woman in the garden merely stood, watching, and reached out to gather someone to her side—a child that Damen hadn't noticed, playing among the vegetable rows.

Laurent stopped his horse on the spot, staring at the child.

It was a girl, judging by the long hair and skirts. She looked to be six or seven, exactly the right age. Her hair was blonde, eyes blue, skin fair beneath its freckles… Damen had seen Auguste only once, but there was an unmistakable resemblance between Auguste and Laurent, and this girl shared it.

Laurent swung down from his horse. After a moment's hesitation, Damen did likewise, gesturing for Jord and Lazar to remain where they were. He didn't want to spook the woman and child, but neither was he willing to make Laurent face this alone.

For a moment, Laurent seemed to have lost his nerve; not until Damen touched his arm did he gather himself, and step forward toward the pair in the garden, tightly controlled and emotionless.

"Your Majesty," the woman said, sinking into a low curtsy. She was freckled, like the little girl, with brilliant red hair that was probably unruly at the best of times, and was currently well-tossed by the ocean breeze. _Fire-spirit_ , Auguste had written. _Sweet_ , Laurent had said, and Damen fancied he could see that in her face, which was soft and rounded, though her expression was unreadable.

"You are Lucett?" Damen said, when Laurent failed to speak. "The daughter of the old royal perfumer?"

"I am, sire." She swallowed. "This is my daughter, Aurora."

Laurent, Damen realized, was looking at the girl, not the mother—could hardly tear his eyes away, even as he pulled Auguste's letter from inside his vest and passed it to Lucett. The child, half-hidden in her mother's skirts, looked daunted by this scrutiny; to soften it, Laurent gave her a smile, hesitant and shy as Damen had never seen him. It was impossible to fear someone who smiled like that; after a moment, the girl smiled shyly back.

Lucett, reading the letter, put a hand over her mouth and began to cry.

"Aurora." Laurent sank to one knee, meeting her at eye level. "My name is Laurent. I am your… uncle." His voice faltered on the word. "I am your father’s brother."

"My father was a soldier," Aurora said. "He died in the war." She frowned up at her weeping mother. "What did you do to make my mama sad?"

"I reminded her of the past," Laurent said, looking up in a sort of wistful curiosity at the woman his brother had loved. "That can be overwhelming, but it is good to remember."

"I don't remember him," Aurora said. "My father."

"I can tell you about him." No one who knew Laurent less well than Damen would have perceived the tremor in his voice. "Would you like that?"

Aurora face lit, and she stepped forward, most unexpectedly, to throw her arms around Laurent. Rocked backward by the impact, Laurent nearly toppled; Damen quickly reached out to brace him.

Laurent did not appear to notice, too busy returning the little girl's embrace. With his face pressed into her shoulder, their golden hair mixed together and could not be told apart.


End file.
